


Holiday Blues

by rizcriz



Series: tumblr is dying time to get compiling [33]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, eliots a good husband
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/pseuds/rizcriz
Summary: In which Quentin's got a case of the holiday blues.





	Holiday Blues

Eliot peeks out the cottage door, tilting his head at Quentin, who’s solemnly sitting in his chair, staring off into the distance. It’s a very Quentin thing to do. Pretend to be okay when Eliot’s near, but as soon as he thinks nobodies looking, he lets all the sadness and everything take hold, and capture him like–well, Eliot’s not sure like what.

All he knows is it’s Quentin’s first christmas without Rupert since, well, since Rupert’s first christmas.

Eliot clears his throat and makes his way out, holding a cup of tea in each hand. Quentin jumps, forces a smile on his lips, and quickly wipes at his eyes like he doesn’t think Eliot will realize he’s been crying like the sad sap he is.

But then, Eliot doesn’t want Quentin to know that he’s also been patientally (impatiently) awaiting word from their son that he’d return for the holidays like he’s done every year before.

It’s not even an important holiday, not really. Neither of them really care about Christmas. They just like having an excuse to see their son again. Just like having a reason to be happy for no reason. To cast pointless spells, and to bring Rupert gifts. Quentin doesn’t think Eliot knows about the box at the bottom of their closet that’s for Rupert should he decide to return, but Eliot does all the cleaning.

And Quentins a bit of a dunce when it comes to keeping secrets.

Case in point: the sudden and unavoidable return of Quentin’s depression.

Not that it was ever gone. Q’s just always been good at distracting himself with Rupert, or with sex with Eliot (a distraction Eliot would mind finding again) or with the mosaic. But now he just sits in his chair and stares off into the distance, and writes letters to Rupert. And works on the mosaic. But they can’t really enjoy it together anymore – not like they used to. Quentin takes his time with it. Slow and easy. Back to trying math.

All static, no feeling.

“Hey,” Quentin says, smiling with the corners of his mouth. He reaches for the tea.

Eliot quirks an eyebrow and holds it back from him, “Uh-uh,” He says, “No tea until you start talking.”

Quentin stares up at him for a moment, before sighing and sweeping an arm out around the meadow. “It’s a beautiful day out today, Eliot. Isn’t it?”

Eliot blinks down at him, unimpressed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

Quentin stares back, defiant, just as unimpressed. But he’s not got any fight in him, and he deflates like a bubble with a hole in it, and falls back into the seat. He closes his eyes like he’s trying to make sense of something before he can say it. And then, his eyes flutter open, and the tears brimming at the edges of them are so jarring that Eliot nearly takes a step back. “I miss him,” he says, quietly.

Eliot clenches and unclenches his jaw, before moving in and handing him the cup before taking the seat next to him. He takes a sip of the tea, swishes it around in his mouth, and then swallows before saying, “Yeah. Me too.”

“I thought he’d come.”

Eliot shrugs, taking another sip of the tea, motioning for Quentin to do the same. “He’s got to spend time with his new family, too, Q.”

It’s sensible, but Eliot doesn’t like it anymore than Quentin does. He just needs to be the strong one until Quentin’s able to pull himself out of this episode.

“That’s stupid.”

“And you’re being petulant.”

Quentin pouts. It’d be cute if his eyes weren’t still glassy with tears he’s too stubborn to cry when Eliot’s around. “I’m allowed to be petulant. My son hasn’t even returned my letters.”

Eliot blinks. And then he pushes up from the chair, and cracks his neck. “All right,” he says, setting the tea down in his seat, and turned to Quentin. “That’s enough of that. I’m so bored, Q.”

“What?”

“I’m bored of you being sad and not talking to me. I’m bored of you being afraid to cry in front of me. So, fuck it,” He raises an eyebrow, a smirk working it’s way across his face, “I’m going to take a card from Margo’s book.” He almost feels bad at the way Quentin flinches at the mention of Margo’s name, but Quentin’s too sad, and Eliot’s let him be sad too long. Let him hide from him for too damn long.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Eliot says, leaning down to take the cup from Quentin’s hands. He tries to hold onto it, despite having not taken even a single sip from it, but Eliot tugs a little harder than necessary, until he’s free to set it down next to his own abandoned cup. “Get up.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I can make you.”

“You won’t.”

It’s almost like, even after all this time, Quentin’s forgotten that Eliot so, so would.

And that he’s going to enjoy it.

He seems to realize it as soon as Eliot starts casting, and a long, pathetic whine works its way out of his throat, “Not a song spell, El – please–”

But it’s too late, because Big Girls Don’t Cry’s already started playing, and Eliot’s not about to let it stop now.

Especially as Quentin, with no control of his own, starts flitting across the meadow doing a sad, mopey dance as he sings the Fergie classic.

It’s worth it, though, as reluctant smile starts to work it’s way around the words on the sun, until the dance turns more animated, and Quentin pulls Eliot in to dance with him.

They’re not fixed, not by a longshot. But, if he can distract Quentin when he needs it, does it really matter?

The answers no, because just as the music stops playing, they hear a familiar voice, call from the distance, “Dads!”

And a real, 100 watt smile spreads across Quentin’s lips, and he’s running across the meadow to pull his son into a hug. Eliot grins, breathless, from beside the mosaic. A girl appears at the the edges of the meadows, standing awkwardly beside Rupert as Quentin hugs him. But then he’s pulling away, and Rupert’s introducing her,a nd Quentin’s waving Eliot over.

It may just be a distraction, but it’ll get him through. It’ll do.

Until he can find a better way to help Quentin without the modern worlds meds.

 


End file.
